


Three Days on Nar Shaddaa

by sparklight



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Drama, Gen, Light Angst, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke's visit to Nar Shaddaa doesn't go at all as he thought it would, and given his family's history, he doesn't take it very well. He refuses to just lay down and accept it, though.</p><p>This follows the current arc in Marvel's Star Wars comics (#8-11), and Luke's brush with slavery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Days on Nar Shaddaa

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the dialogue is lifted from the comics.

The first proclamation of ownership Luke dismissed. Not because there wasn't weight behind it (it being said by a Hutt was damning enough), but he did have other things to worry about. Like the strange droids and their staves, the Hutt talking about _his_ lightsaber as if it was the Hutt's, trying to think of some way of getting out of the situation...

Well.

If nothing else the fist to his skull hammered in that he was in _trouble_.

Coming to hanging between two of those droids - magnaguards? - from earlier in front of the Hutt, on his _knees_ , sent a wave of nausea through him that had nothing to do with the headache thundering through his head. Breathing shallowly through his nose, Luke ignored the Hutt's question and spat out one of his own.

"In my home. Please answer the question."

He almost laughed, but restrained himself in time. Had to focus through the spearing lights to glare up at Grakkus, though that made it feel like his _eyeballs_ were throbbing.

"No."

Because Luke Skywalker wasn't going to make _anything_ easy for a _Hutt_. Though, he quickly forgot his defiance in favour of gaping over all the items contained in this room. All this knowledge, if he could just get the chance to access it. He could maybe, finally, he a Jedi---

 _He was bringing you_.

Ice rushed through his veins, and that, coupled with his headache, didn't really do anything for his concentration and what Grakkus wanted him to do. 

Holocron? 

What was even a _holocron_? How was he supposed to open it when he didn't know what it was, how it worked, or what it _did_? And he didn't want to do _anything_ for a Hutt.

But he also didn't want to _die_ , so he fumbled, stretching out like Ben had showed him, trying to grasp---

He wasn't sure.

And then the count hit five and _he was going to die here_.

In that split second, calmness descended like he was back in the Death Star trench, up in space in his X-wing in battle, and he touched light.

The holocron in Grakkus' hand opened up. As did quite a few others, and Luke was left staring, surprised and a little bit awed at his achievement. 

_So many_. 

They lit up the room in globes of hologram blue, each projecting their creator's image while the soft voices wove together into a muddled choir where only a few words stood out. Grakkus shifted next to him, and Luke whirled to face him, turning away from the recording of the Togruta woman he'd been looking at. He took half a step back when the Hutt shifted closer, prosthetic legs clacking on the permacrete.

"Well... what do you know. It appears you will make a fine addition to my collection after all."

_No!_

His concentration wavered, the reflexive rush of anger, the spike of _revulsion_ , sending a flicker through the blue in the room, and he took another step back, slowly shaking his head.

"But... I'm not..." it was a weak protest, pathetic and useless and _dumb_ , but his thoughts whirled along with the suddenly loud, quick beat of his heart. The holocrons clattered to whatever available surface, closed and dark again, and the light he'd touched was gone. The room seemed to get both smaller and darker as Grakkus chuckled and a slow, dark smile pulled at that wide mouth.

"What you _are_ , dear boy... is the last Jedi," Grakkus said slowly, looking him up and down and judging - no, not _judging_. 

He'd seen that sort of look quite a few times back on Tatooine, aimed at him, his friends, other farmers or Anchorhead residents or their slaves. It wasn't about _judging_ ; it was a slow measurement that nonetheless had seen, evaluated and set a price within a split second.

That was the sort of look he was getting.

Luke took another step back, hand falling to his empty belt, then his empty holster as he stumbled back into one of the magnaguards.

"And now you belong to _me_."

That second proclamation brought up an echo of a memory from when he was eight and had been _very, very stupid_. Maybe it was because reading Ben's book, touching right on that time, had left that memory close to the surface... But either way it bubbled up.

_You're a terrible liar, kid._

"E chu ta!" snarling, he jumped away from the magnaguard he'd ended up back to front against as it reached for him, completely failing to notice he'd fallen out of Basic, "I _don't_!" 

_We'll see if you make a better slave._

Ripping the blaster out of the magnaguard's spindly hand, Luke fired just as the crackling end of a staff was driven into his back, causing the shot to go wild and scorch the crown of a broken-off statue's head instead. Lightning shot through him, snapping through his muscles.

_Throw him in the back with the jugs._

The floor came up to meet him and he barely caught himself before he cracked his head open on it. His headache bloomed up, threatened to force up what little he'd eaten today even as he tried to get back to his feet, refusing to remain on the floor, on his knees. 

Another crackling jab to the small of his back made sure the floor was a good place to be, however. It was cool, compared to his skin, scraping up his palms because he couldn't just _lie here_ while the Hutt talked---

Thoughts and vision refusing to focus, the only thing he heard was scattered words, none of them the least bit good.

Blinking furiously as he was yanked up by his arms again, Luke swallowed down bile, though why he made the effort, he didn't know. Especially when Grakkus grasped his chin, putting pressure on the bruise that was already growing there from the hit he'd taken while fighting the magnaguards out on the street. 

The Hutt's hand slid smoothly - unnervingly so - with just a tiny hint of glide that suggested the bumpy skin was lubricated just a touch. Refusing to shudder, Luke pulled his thoughts together enough to glare, even if what he really wanted to do was let the headache win and throw up and then follow the teasing call of unconsciousness.

"I expect it will be quite the party," Grakkus said slowly, his smile wider than even a Hutt's mouth should allow for as he shook Luke's head by the grip on his chin, thumb sliding along his jaw. 

He wouldn't shudder. 

He really, really wouldn't. 

Thankfully Grakkus let go and waved a hand as he turned away, hook-ended legs clattering on the floor as he left his... storage? museum? this _grave_ he'd made for the Jedi artefacts he'd collected.

The magnaguards yanked Luke up and half dragged, half carried him in another direction, the corridors and stairs slowly going from wide, smoothly polished and carpeted to pitted, rough and suspiciously spotted. Soon, there were also cages, each of them holding creatures Luke mostly had never seen, nor even heard about, before. 

Something dripped, somewhere, and even the _shadows_ seemed to smell.

They stopped in front of a gangly Rodian who looked him over, snout twitching. Luke scowled up at them, flexing his hands - realised he could even _do so_ , and breathed out slowly. Just another moment...

"The Gamemaster's busy for now, so put him away... Into one of the smaller cages, I think. This one doesn't look like he'd survive an hour with _company_ ," the Rodian laughed, turned around to pluck a pair of magna binders off the bench behind them just as Luke balled his hands into fists and tried to lunge at the Rodian and out of the magnaguards' grip.

A bit too late, though, and he was yanked back hard enough darkness welled up for a moment. Blinking, shaking his head carefully, he couldn't do much as the binders were snapped on.

The cuffs were heavy and felt cold even through the sleeves of his jacket and shirt, but they quickly (and definitely) warmed up when the Rodian muttered 'cuffs, on' before they turned away, waving a dismissive hand in the air towards a corridor. The magnaguards clattered onwards, and Luke, while he dug his feet in, couldn't really do more than go along with it.

At least until they got to the cage. 

Luke stared, and a voice from far more recently than his other memory drifted up to the surface.

_Get away from those cages! Unless you'd rather be in one._

He'd been focusing on the slaves in the cages, on the overseer, not his threat, but here it was again. A literal cage, and his unsettled stomach rebelled. Heartbeat speeding up again, Luke threw himself sideways into the right magnaguard with a muffled grunt, hooking a leg around one of its legs--- he didn't so much as shift it a few _centimeters_ , only managed to give himself a sore shoulder as they grabbed him again.

The lock clicked open, the door swung wide, and he was tossed in. 

Rolling around and up on his feet, Luke was left staring at a closed door made of bars and the magnaguards' retreating backs. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming. It took a few minutes, then he looked down at his hands.

" _Great_." Trying to pull the cuffs apart did nothing; they glowed with energy and no matter how much he strained they kept a perfect hand's span distance between his wrists. Swallowing down another scream, he slammed the edge of one of the binders against the bars, only managing to bruise the fingers of his left hand and set the bars ringing from the strike.

Slumping down against the back wall, which was the only wall that wasn't made out of bars, Luke scrubbed his face and then let his head fall back against the wall and his hands back down into his lap.

"This was a _really stupid idea_ \---"

The thought froze and Luke opened his eyes again to stare up at the shadowed ceiling far above. 

When had he switched to Huttese?

Sure, everybody on Nar Shaddaa had been speaking Huttese, but he'd managed to keep to Basic himself, only switching while asking around for the 'right' cantina to go to if they really didn't seem to understand him. 

The same had happened in the cantina; he'd considered switching when no one reacted before the bartender had told the crowd to kill and rob him. When he met Grakkus? No, that wasn't it either; the Hutt had been speaking Huttese, of course, but _he_ hadn't... right? 

When had he _switched_ , and _why_ had he switched?

Luke kicked the bars to his right, wincing a little as his foot met unyielding metal, and didn't really feel any better about it. How to even get out of it now that he'd fallen into it? He could tell, now, that he was even _thinking_ in it; which, well, was useful for not getting stumped when you did need to talk Huttese, but Luke didn't want to do it now that he didn't _need to_.

Gritting his teeth, he glared up into the shadows, glad he couldn't see what the ceiling looked like. No such luck about the floor or walls or bars, but he didn't have much choice about not being able to see those, did he? Tried to think of _anything_ that would help.

All that popped up into his brain was Aunt Beru telling him about his grandmother, her face drawn and serious as she told him in that quiet way when something was _important_ , about where Grandma Shmi had come from. What she, and his father, had been before a bet on a podrace had changed things. Slowly tilting his head down to stare at his hands, the magna cuffs humming quietly into the (not really) silence, Luke ground his teeth and flexed his hands. 

Was it better or worse that this would probably not last long? 

Certainly not as long as his grandmother and father had been enslaved. He couldn't exactly remember what Grakkus had said, but this location wasn't exactly the typical sort of slave quarters, so he had... a vague idea of what might happen. Which would mean that unless he was _really lucky_ , he wouldn't be sitting in this cage for too long. But why Grakkus would go through the bother just to have him die soon after, Luke didn't understand.

Didn't _want_ to understand.

Letting his head thump back against the wall again, Luke hummed softly - it took a few moments to recognise the melody, and when he did, he relaxed just a shade. Felt something like a dry, bitter twist to his mouth that _could_ have been a smile if things had been different. A lullaby. Aunt Beru used to sing it to him---

Swallowing down anger and a stab of grief, Luke screwed his eyes shut and focused on the words.

They, after all, weren't Huttese.

Not Basic either, though. But that wasn't a bad thing.

_Here dawn does not bring succor sweet, only a promise of the day's burning heat... what then, my light, what then?_

Trying to shut out the noises and the smell - he smelled just as much as this place already, considering he'd fallen into garbage earlier today, Luke breathed in shallowly. Remembered when he'd learned that the line should be 'what then, my love, what then?' but that Aunt Beru had changed it for him. He'd called her silly for that, but secretly been pleased.

Her hands had always been dry and warm as she brushed his hair away from his forehead when she tucked him in.

Had Grandmother's been the same as she tucked his father in, whenever she could, before they were freed?

_And so rises noon, bright and hard, the memories of cool night far. Oh, if only the shadows would fall. But what then, my light, what then?_

He tried to make his thoughts follow the rhythm of the lullaby, but he didn't know enough of the language - no one did, anymore. The Hutts had stomped down good and hard on it when they came to Tatooine (though they'd been unable to wrest language from either the Jawas or the Tusken). What was left was a handful of words, phrases and a few songs.

Shaking his head, Luke sat up a bit more properly. Falling asleep here was the last thing he wanted to do... 

Which happened anyway, though he kept waking up. Time stretched into an airless limbo, like being stuck out in the wilderness during a sandstorm as he shifted restlessly between jagged snatches of sleep. 

Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Luke wished he still had the wrist-mounted comlink – it had a chrono, as well. If he could just tell the time... Useless thought. Time was, essentially, meaningless now---

But he couldn't think like that _either_ , and he balled his hands into fists. Every second counted, every minute. Time counted as long as he had a chance of getting away and he'd only been here... How long? A few hours. Half a day, maybe, if it was into evening now. Groaning in frustration, Luke awkwardly scrubbed his scalp. 

He just had to try and not let this get to him, that was all.

Easy.

Eyes snapping open, suddenly awake - he wasn't even sure when he'd managed to fall asleep again - Luke got up to his feet and kept his back to the wall as the Rodian from earlier came around a corner, walking with mock-nonchalance down the corridor. 

Even walked _past him_ , but Luke didn't relax. He could feel the intent in the air, a slick sort of film that coated the floor, air, and the Rodian herself (he was pretty sure, now that he was looking at her, that she was a 'she'). Not even a minute later she came back, stopping right in front of his cage.

"Go away," he snapped, didn't like the rawness in his voice - the bruise was huge and sort of made his throat ache as he spoke. Tried to ignore he was speaking Huttese again. Her snout quivered as she laughed, a noise he barely recognised as such. The dim light down here slid off her huge eyes, revealed iridescence. Elsewhere, elsewhen, on _anybody else_ , it might have made her prettier.

Here and now it just turned his stomach, especially when she leaned closer to tap her fingers against the bars.

"I think it's a pity Grakkus is going to waste that pretty face of yours, you know," she said quietly, with something that could generously have been called commiseration if the tone wasn't too warm, wasn't too _greedy_. 

She wasn't sad at all. 

Was going to try and take advantage of it, and while it briefly made him freeze, the wet cold down here creeping into his bones, Luke realised he could _use this_.

If she went too far in her attempts to make him cooperate, he'd either die beforehand (he didn't want to, but it'd spare him and deprive the Hutt) or wouldn't be able to fight, which would backfire on _her_... or he could turn this around and might be able to get out.

"I think I'll survive," he said, raising his chin and glowering at her. She laughed again, sliding a... shock stick? out of a pocket. Luke felt his stomach drop. That'd make things much harder---

The hand that landed, heavy and reddish-brown, on the Rodian's bony shoulder, made her freeze.

"Perhaps you might want to talk with the boss about his business strategy?" the man said quietly in a dead-even voice, and she shook her head, twisted away out of his grip and left. Luke refused to droop back against the wall as all tension briefly left his body, and met the shadowed stare of the newcomer with a tight-lipped glare. 

If he expected any sort of _thanks_...

"You've got all of tomorrow to get better with a lightsaber, kid. I suggest you make the best out of it if you want to _try_ and survive."

Luke couldn't interpret the man's tone and frowned. Did he _want_ him to survive or something? Why? And what did he mean, time to get better? This didn't make sense. But since he was here, and they were alone...

"What am I fighting? And _when_?"

"Don't know," the man shrugged, looking him over, "and the day after tomorrow." He turned on his heels and left, leaving Luke as alone as he _could be_ down here.

Not that that was much of a consolation, however.

But a whole day and another night... Maybe he'd get a chance to get away. Unease ripped into his insides as he slid down the wall and settled on the floor again, but he couldn't tell if it was some sort of warning from the Force or if it was just his own mounting certainty (acceptance) that no, he wouldn't be able to get away.

Had failed in this, too, to remain the _freeborn_ son of a slave.

Gritting his teeth again, Luke scrubbed his face.

"I won't."

The promise - to his grandmother, his father, his aunt and uncle, to everybody who'd been ground underneath the Hutts' slug-shaped weights - felt hollow.

It felt even more hollow in the light of... well, not day, because Luke still didn't have a clue what time it was when he was woken up by the sharp clang of metal on metal. 

Tension flooded back into his limbs. What time was it? When had he fallen asleep again? He'd been sure he wouldn't be able to, not after the Rodian's little visit. Apparently he had, however, and now he had even less of an idea what time it was. Possibly morning, however.

The magnaguards were back. 

Frowning at them, Luke wondered if he could, maybe... what? He'd failed his attempt at tricking the overseer on Cymoon-1, and he was pretty sure he'd have even less of a success with these droids. Could you even do whatever Ben had done to the stormtroopers to droids?

He carefully got up to his feet and decided the best course of action might simply be to wait a little; maybe he'd get a chance to escape when they got to wherever they were going. Maybe he could get his lightsaber back, since it'd sounded like he'd get some sort of _training_ and if there were no magnaguards nearby, or he kept out of their reach, he should be able to get away.

It wasn't like they'd be able to _find him_ (or blow him up); Grakkus hadn't bothered with a transmitter yet. Might not at all, maybe, if his vague recollection of what the Hutt had talked about was right. His mouth went dry a second later and he tried not to think about the quiet _flatness_ the thought of the (lack or presence of a) transmitter had had. 

He'd get out. 

Artoo was still out there, he could hopefully do something. Distress signal, maybe. But who would even _come_? Han and Leia and Chewie might be busy, and he didn't think the Alliance had the manpower to send much people into Hutt Space...

He pushed the thought away and simply _walked_.

Luke ignored the Rodian when they passed the bench again, focusing his attention on committing the route they were taking to memory - and to keep up with the magnaguards. Now that they weren't dragging him, he had to walk himself, and they weren't exactly _accommodating_ with shortening their steps. 

They stepped out into a brightly lit arena, and Luke knew he hadn't misheard what Grakkus had been talking about in his museum (or whatever to call it). Squinting into the light, the sand and the pale stone throwing it back at him and magnifying it, Luke frowned when he caught sight of the figure standing there, turned into a black smear by the light.

An expression which soured when he recognised the man, and then darkened further when he spoke. It was really hard not to roll his eyes.

"You may've opened some holocrons, but that doesn't make you a Jedi."

Refused to think about how, if nothing changed, and soon, he'd never get the chance to _be one_ , either. Instead Luke straightened up and stared, raising his chin a little - ignored the way the bruise on his chin and underside of his jaw throbbed at that motion.

"I never said I was one." Because he hadn't. Why would he? He sure _wanted_ to be able to lay claim to that title, but until he knew more, until he'd actually earned it, he couldn't do that. Staring at the tall, hooded man, Luke didn't notice when the magnaguards let go. Only focused on what he - the Gamemaster - was saying, what it _meant_.

Felt a low burn of dull anger heat his insides.

"I won't fight for the enjoyment of some _Hutt_ ," he snapped, knowing it was an empty protest, had to make it anyway. The Gamemaster dismissed the words and the glare with ease and obvious logic.

"Yes, you _will_."

Yes, he would.

If he didn't, Luke was pretty sure he'd be dying _either way_. Still, he rolled his eyes and pulled away from the magnaguards, throwing a scowl at the Gamemaster. What did _he_ think he had to teach him, anyway? What would the relatively privileged slave fighter trainer of a Hutt know about _Jedi_?

He'd turned his back (stupid) to both the magnaguards and the Gamemaster and was several meters away when what the Gamemaster was saying actually registered. Jedi Temple. Imperial Palace. Pausing, Luke stared into the shadows of one of the alcoves that were set into the arena walls. Felt frustration bubble up, and he shouldn't turn back around, but he did it _anyway_ , teeth gritted.

So even his original idea had been useless.

 _Fantastic_.

The Gamemaster wasn't finished, however, and Luke realised the man might, maybe, have a point. But really, he also wasn't naïve enough to think the Hutt would actually give him leave to have a look at his collection. Not even if he survived more than one or even a handful of matches. Grakkus wasn't interested in an actually trained Jedi, and letting him use the holocrons might lead to that.

Might make him an _actual_ threat.

Bitter frustration turned into confusion when the cuffs deactivated with the Gamemaster's command, and Luke nearly fumbled his catch of the lightsaber; _his_ lightsaber, his father's, and he'd managed to get them back here, into something his father had _gotten out of_. But. He had the lightsaber back. Breathing a little easier, he gripped the hilt hard, turning it over in the light from the spotlights above.

It looked fine. Thank the stars.

"What's to stop me from taking this and..."

" _Me_." Not so much a threat or a taunt as simple, unbending fact. Very unimpressed unbending fact as the Gamemaster stared at him across the sand and Luke gripped his lightsaber tighter, flexing his fingers around the hilt. 

He still had this, surely...

"And also _them_ ," the Gamemaster said dryly, a quick tilt of his head around the arena, indicating the magnaguards. Which had more than multiplied from the two that had led Luke in here. He wouldn't be able to get past all of these, Luke knew, and the knowledge _burned_. He might have his lightsaber, but that wouldn't help here.

_Father..._

If Ben only had had more _time_.

"We've got a room back there filled with lightsabers," the Gamemaster said, startling Luke out of his thoughts. He could feel the man's stare at him from under the shadows of that kind of silly-looking hood he wore, "but everyone who's ever used one is gone, so there's no one left who knows how to keep them working. Every day, more of them short out and become useless."

The Gamemaster caught his gaze and held it, speaking evenly; the lack of a taunt just made the words heavier, _sharper_. Luke sucked a breath in, jaw aching from the way he was gritting his teeth.

"If you're hoping to save what's left of the Jedi, kid... you'd better hurry. Let's see what you've got."

It was an invitation (an order, really), and Luke was for a brief, unending moment tempted to _not_ take it. This was the training the Gamemaster had implied when he'd told him he had time to 'get better' with a lightsaber. He didn't want it. He wasn't going to just do what they _wanted_ him to, except... 

Frustration, anger and the cold, heavy binders weighing down his wrists yanked his resolve into a hard left and he _lunged_.

A second later a crack echoed through his head and he saw stars flickering in the darkness that followed the light where he'd been struck. The sand scraped against his skin and he swallowed back disappointment as a singing hum whipped close to his head. 

He knew that sound.

"Congratulations, you're already dead, and half the people haven't even found their seats yet," this time, there _was_ a sneer. Was the Gamemaster as disappointed in him as he was in himself? Well, he was probably not paid (if he was paid) to have those he trained up dying before they could be good sport...

"Get up. And next time, try a little _harder_ not to die."

Briefly closing his eyes, Luke scowled, grabbed his lightsaber and got to his feet, blade already ignited. He didn't care about the Gamemaster, or this fight the Hutt wanted him 'ready' to participate in, but he cared about Ben and his father.

He couldn't disappoint _them_ any more than he already had after failing to confront Vader. After getting himself stuck here. Couldn't let his father's legacy end where it'd begun.

The humming crash as the green and blue blades met each other reverberated up through his arms, but not with the same strength Vader had used, so he didn't fall.

He'd do this.

It just turned out that 'doing this' included being thrown to the arena floor an uncounted number of times and, hours later, back into the cage. Swallowing a grunt, Luke punched the floor. He'd hoped he'd be able to get out when they took him back, but he hadn't been fast enough when the cuffs had been reactivated. Hadn't been able to keep the lightsaber.

Hadn't _anything_. 

Following cracks and the joins between the flagstones with his gaze, Luke didn't care enough about the filthy floor to move just yet. Breathed, and stayed where he was, digging his fingers into his hair. 

Hoped no scrap dealers had gotten hold of Artoo. That'd be a fine end to this, getting Artoo into a worse situation than he was in - worse mostly because Luke was even more convinced that this wasn't meant to be long-term.

There was still no transmitter, and he tried to ignore the sense of relief that thought brought with it, because in this case no transmitter didn't mean it didn't _count_. It just meant he wasn't expected to live long enough the expense would be considered worth it. 

His temple throbbed as he rolled around, laying on the floor for a little while and then finally sat up, dragging a hand through his hair as well as he could, the binders' humming weight impeding him. Should he feel gratified they thought he was enough of a threat that they left the magna cuffs active even while tossing him into a cage?

Luke didn't feel very _gratified_ ; only a sucking sensation of failure. 

If he was better trained--- or if he'd gotten much of any training _at all_ , but Ben hadn't _defended himself_ \- he cut off that angry thought with a guilty twitch and took a breath. _If_ he'd gotten more training, maybe the cuffs and the tiny cage and the locked door wouldn't matter.

But for now, it certainly _did_.

Staring down at his palms as he turned them in his lap, Luke tried to breathe evenly. Felt his breath hitch despite his resolve, tried again. Ben had mentioned meditation; maybe that would help him here. Any sort of insight might give him an edge...

If there was a trick to meditating, though, Ben hadn't had the chance to teach it to him. Luke _tried_ , but he could hear creatures shifting, the steady drip of something further away, small vermin scurrying over the floor---

Digging his nails into his palms, Luke felt nothing. Nothing but frustration and anger and a low bubbling just beyond his reach, which he knew, just like on Tatooine when he'd charged the Sandpeople outside Ben's hut, that it wasn't good.

But what was he supposed to _do_? 

Getting up to his feet with a grunt, he paced. It kept him moving - kept his mind off the headache mounting from the hit he'd taken from the Gamemaster - and it was something to focus on. Tried to make it into a way to tell the passage of time, but he didn't have much of a clue when the droids came back and took him to the arena again. Noon, maybe, if he'd been woken at dawn... 

This time he didn't end up facing the Gamemaster, however, but rather one of the magnaguards. 

It was unsettling, actually this lack of knowing what time it was; he'd known the rhythm of Tatooine well enough that he could've been in a windowless room and still woken up ten minutes before Uncle Owen would've yelled at him through the door to get up. He'd also started to get used to the Alliance's schedule, though that'd been thrown off somewhat when he'd taken off.

Now, though... He could only _guess_ , and his guess meant less than nothing and it left him jittery.

More so than dodging the magnaguards' charged staves did, at any rate, but those were what he needed to focus on. Which he did, and he didn't even notice when one droid turned into two, and he moved between dodging and parrying the two of them.

Couldn't help a moment's of distraction as he glanced around, noticing the magnaguards stationed around the arena.

Too many. 

Unless he could maybe _jump_ \---

The crack of the charged tip of one of the staves as it was driven into his ribs left him gasping, staggering away. The magnaguards paused, and in that moment of silence Luke caught voices drifting down from the shadowed upper stands of the arena.

"... my Jedi coming along?"

 _Not yours **anything**_. Scowling, Luke threw himself back into the fight, anger drying his mouth, tightening his grip on the lightsaber.

"He may be strong in the Force, but as far... training he's received has been _cursory_ at..."

And whose fault was _that_?

Biting down on the yell that wanted to escape, Luke whacked a staff away, drove shoulder-first into one of the magnaguards, blocked and then slashed and--- Breathe. He was going to tire himself out like this. He had no idea how long they'd keep him out here, and he'd already been training with the Gamemaster earlier. So far any attempt at taking a break had provoked the magnaguards to attack him, charged tips of their staves snapping closer and closer until he took up a guard or attacked.

His muscles ached, but he couldn't think about that.

Barely dared to think that he _was_ getting better at this, because unless he could get away, it wouldn't matter. If he didn't survive, he wouldn't get the chance to use what he was learning here, even if it was in a Hutt's death-match arena. 

Not exactly where or how he'd thought he'd learn to use a lightsaber when Ben had first given his father's to him.

Leaping away from the magnaguards, he thought again of the jump he'd made to the trash barge the lightsaber thief had jumped to. Remembered it'd been far further between the edge of the roof he'd jumped off and to the barge than he should have been able to jump. Maybe if he could just---

This time, the charged tip rammed into the back of his head, the cold tingle that preceded the hit being noticed too late (or he didn't react in time) and Luke collapsed onto the ground, swallowing back nausea and blinking away threatening unconsciousness. 

He just... needed... a moment. A tip slammed into the sand right beside his head, and he rolled away, brought his lightsaber up to ward off the downwards slash that was coming at him.

There was no time for that, even less thoughts of escaping.

Or rest.

Hours later - there'd been another break, at some point, sitting in the shadow of an alcove and sipping down barely a handful of tepid water, but Luke could honestly not say when or how long it'd been. It also felt like a capitulation that he felt _relieved_ at being thrown back in the cage. Wasn't sure whether what he tasted and swallowed down was disappointment in himself or bile. He couldn't smell himself any longer.

Probably for the best. At this point he hadn't had a shower in several days. He hoped the clothes weren't beyond help... Closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against the cool, moist rock, Luke didn't know if he'd want to wear these clothes ever again. Even if the smell of garbage and the Hutt's cages and arena came out.

Luke was sure that at this point his father would've been able to have gotten out of this predicament; Ben too. 

_He_ was the one who was failing at this. He needed to do _better_. Turning around fast enough his vision swam, Luke frowned at the door and the lock. He'd failed at meditating, but maybe... He just needed to concentrate, just needed to reach the Force and _surely_ he'd be able to open the door, or something else useful.

Taking a breath that made the inside of his mouth and throat feel tacky, he licked his lips and closed his eyes.

Breathe.

Reach for it and---

Nothing happened.

He tried, he _really, really did_ , but nothing happened and finally, torn between anger and _helplessness_ , Luke slumped down on the floor. Felt the hot, salty bite of tears and squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head back.

No crying.

Crying would be finally admitting defeat, and he wouldn't do _that_.

"Not... that far yet," he muttered, then froze. Huttese again. He shouldn't be surprised. The curses that came out after that were Huttese as well and Luke felt like throwing something, but he didn't have anything to throw. Well. He _could_ undo the latch for the holster and throw _that_ , but that wouldn't really be satisfying.

He was tired; the whole of him ached, he had a headache and couldn't focus for long enough to make any thought matter. There was a knot on the back of his head and before the cuffs had been reactivated, he'd felt the matted tangle of dried hair. Blood. He wasn't sure how he'd fight tomorrow like this.

_When evening burnishes the sky so bold, thoughts and bodies may turn to rest untold_

Shaking his head slowly, Luke bit his lip and glanced around, but the place was dark and neither more noisy nor silent than it'd been last night. He must have imagined hearing the singing. Especially since it'd sounded like... actually, he hadn't recognised the voice. 

It should've been Aunt Beru's, because she was the only one who'd ever sung that song to him, but it'd sounded like some other woman. 

Warm, tired and gentle.

There was nothing _gentle_ here, but he sure felt _tired_.

Luke closed his eyes again, forced himself to mouth the next few words of the song, forced his brain to try and focus for long enough to finish even one more line of it. Better that than the Huttese.

_But out upon the dunes they creep... What then, my light, what then?_

Sighing, he leaned forward and buried his face into his hands. What then, indeed?

"Absolutely _nothing_ , Aunt Beru. I'm sorry."

His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and at least that was a reassurance he was still alive, but that was only a victory if he could stay alive the whole day tomorrow. Unless the Hutt would be satisfied with a flashy victory, giving him a little more time... 

He didn't want to think about that. Instead, he tried to remember what else Aunt Beru had told him about his grandmother (Uncle Owen didn't often talk of her, but sometimes he did). Luke scrabbled through his memories but his brain remained stubbornly blank.

He felt ill.

Shmi Skywalker.

(He didn't know the name of his grandfather, but there probably hadn't been one in any way that might make him worthy of remembering.)

Anakin Skywalker.

They'd died free.

Probably more than could be said for _him_ \---

Breath catching, Luke scowled until the burning saltiness of tears dried again, straightened up and leaned back against the wall.

No.

He wasn't giving up _yet_. He wouldn't give the Hutt that, he wouldn't do that to his father and grandmother.

He just needed to _survive_.

The bite of the stimshot into his neck the next day (morning? noon? he didn't know), while it made his headache explode for a brief, white-out moment, at least explained how he was supposed to fight. It smoothed over the bruises and the aches - they were still there, of course, but he could no longer _feel them_ ; cleared up the headache. 

He barely listened to Grakkus speak, just stared down at his still-cuffed hands and let the stimshot work its way through him.

"Ready for your _big day_ , my boy?" Grakkus chuckled slowly, and Luke bit the inside of his cheek. Still not Grakkus'. He could try to lay claim to him as much as he wanted, but Luke Skywalker belonged to _no one_ but himself. And if Grakkus was waiting for a response, he'd wait for a long time.

"You'd better be. We've got quite a crowd out there."

Oh, he'd _hate_ to disappoint them, right? Luke stared at the floor, gathering more than just his thoughts.

"He's as ready as he'll ever be," the Gamemaster said, and Luke snorted softly. Well, at least _someone_ was pleased. At least he thought the Gamemaster was pleased. It was a little hard to tell. Scowling, Luke pulled himself up straight and glared up at Grakkus.

"What happens when I win?" Because he was _not_ dying here today. Maybe it was the stimshot that lent him certainty - not bravado, not confidence, just certainty - or maybe it was something else (a woman singing in what dreams he could remember, disjointed and not-quite-nightmarish), but Luke felt calmer. "You just put me back in a cage, right? And find something else for me to fight."

The longer he stayed alive, the better his chances were.

"I wouldn't worry about all that. No one's paying to see you _win_ ," Grakkus said, condescension weaving together with some offence - maybe his calm was throwing the Hutt off. Luke liked the thought of that. "They're paying to watch you _die_. To watch the fall of the final Jedi. Don't disappoint them."

He didn't roll his eyes, if barely. Side-eyeing the Hutt, Luke raised an eyebrow.

"And if I do? If I refuse to go out there?" Because he could always make his last stand _here_ instead, despite what the certainty that he wouldn't die out in the arena told him. Maybe it'd be better...

"You still die, though much more painfully," Grakkus said coolly, having put aside whatever was irritating him before, and pulled something closer to the light, away from the shadows clinging to his bulk. An old book. Luke frowned.

"And I have you stuffed and mounted and hung on the wall in my museum, right next to the other Jedi relics." 

If that was meant to be a threat to scare him into behaving, Luke thought the Hutt really needed to do better. That wouldn't have scared him even when he was eight. People were scary. What they could do were scary. Slavery was terrifying. But that sort of threat of physical violence _after_ he was dead? Not really. 

Grakkus' huge, bulbous eyes cooled and narrowed. Held the book out for easier inspection, and suddenly Luke was pretty sure he recognised it. Wasn't that...

"Right next to _this_."

It was!

"That's... How did you..?" His earlier calm burned away in the mounting anger; how _dare_ the Hutt touch that? 

Just because it was just a book of _stories_ Ben had written during his exile on Tatooine didn't mean it was for _anyone else_ to read or take! Not that his protests were listened to - more like condescended and mocked. Not as if he didn't _know_ you weren't supposed to be angry as a Jedi...

The heavy coolness of a hilt being dropped into his hand distracted him, and he closed his hand around it reflexively, then actually _looked_.

And stared.

"This isn't mine."

The Gamemaster ignored him, deactivated and even took off the binders, and pushed him forward towards a door opening into the arena, closing the bars behind him and leaving Luke nowhere else to go but forwards.

"You want to finally be a Jedi Knight, kid? Here's your chance," the Gamemaster said as the doors opened, leaving Luke squinting into the light, "go _die_ like one."

Since there was nowhere else to go, and this was his only way to get through this - disappoint the crowd and the Hutt and _get out_ , Luke walked out into the arena.

The roar and the crowd was startling; Grakkus hadn't been joking. 

What was far more unsettling and took a bite out of his calm certainty, which had just started to return, was when the other door rose up. Swallowing as he stared up, and up, Luke felt cold dread slide into the place of the certainty.

"... and I thought womp rats were big."

One way or another, however, this would end today.

Luke shook off his startled dread and straightened up, igniting the unfamiliar blade and lifting it high. After almost three days and two nights, this would be over soon. Death, or freedom. Those were the only two results he would accept from this. Not just for himself, but for his father and grandmother's history as well.

A giant claw came down, and there were no more _thoughts_.


End file.
